The Pilgrim of Lightning
by StoriesOfAShadow
Summary: Thomas is a simple man. All he wants to do is take all the Builder items he can get his hands on and take them with him on a boat out of the empire. Is that so hard? Apparently, it is. -A one-off story taken place in The Broken Empire Trilogy (specifically at the end of King of Thorns.)-


My cuffs were soaked in blood as the axe split the bandit's unprotected skull. You'd think for a bandit group dedicated to chasing and attempting to kill me and my companies, they would wear basic protection. But I couldn't preach such a thing, I was wearing a farmer's hat after all, though it was payment for killing a few hungry foxes. As the man's body dropped, another man behind him screamed and ran towards me with his broadsword. I drew my personal longsword while going into a fencer's stance. When the the man swung his sword down, I jumped back a foot, then thrust forward as soon as I hit the ground, sticking the man in the throat with a cheer. The man grabbed his throat as I pulled my sword out, gargling and spitting out chunks of blood during his final fall.

"Now we'll have the king's knights on us," T'mass flatly informed.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did _you_ want to try to talk to one of the deadliest bounty groups in Lisboa!?" I asked, letting some anger out on that last part.

"I was just trying to give you information. I know how much you like it."

"Like" would be an underestimate of my interest in new information. I _adored_ knowledge, specifically Builder books and toys. The Builders even wrote something about learning about the past, that it's never forgotten and that we can always learn from it. The interest first came to me when I was a child, when I managed to find some Builder books in my father's room underneath a faulty floorboard, clever git. Since then I've been trying to learn the Builder's words, their morals and various techniques for a multitude of day-to-day passions and works.

"Well thank you for trying, at least. Come on gentlemen, if the royal knights of our 'grateful' king finds us with these corpses, then we'll be thrown in the dungeons for sure!"

When I looked back, I saw the twins Lyngatha and Lungua repeatedly stabbing another bandit with their knives until the man no longer had any nerves to keep his legs up. Even when he fell they kept stabbing him in the back. I wonder if all the children in the East take pleasure in stabbing people? They seemed very eager to stab me when I didn't have any money for them to mug when I first met them, but a few beers and harlots later, now they help me on my… well _our_ quest to leave this cursed empire.

"With how much copper these guys carry, we could buy a small boat," Lyngatha commented as he went through the man's leather pockets.

His sister, able to understand but not speak the empire's tongue, nodded slowly as she checked the dead man's boots for any unknown secrets. Why a man would hide gold in his boots, I have no idea, I would prefer to hold sheathed knives in there. But to her credit, she did find two silver coins in one of them. I was going to give her a small congratulations on her weird curiosities, but the loud sound of thunder roared before I could even speak a word.

"Seems Thor means to speak with you, Joseph," my giant companion Phanter chuckled.

"Please don't call me that right now. The name is Veritas, at least when we're in public," I said calmly.

"People who wear masks, even verbal ones, are considered cowards and fools," T'mass commented.

"I didn't ask for your opinion! Now I'll ask a question to all of you, even you Lungua: you can all go to some tavern, lay low and do yourselves nice, or join me while I go out for some 'practice.'"

All of them froze stone still at the word "practice." It was one of those words that held a power within my little group, but not without its reason. You think they would have expected it, since there were clouds dark as ink slowly entering in the town. My friends, young and old, looked to me with a bewildered expression, some looking to the person nearest to them to see if they would join me or not. When the first wave of raindrops hit my hat, I shrugged and turned around, knowing what their answer was going to be. As much the twins loved murder, the Norseman and his battle hunger, and the Afrique with wanting to test his freakishly strange strength of arms, none of them would go with me when I'm in a mood.

Phanter says I'm "storm-sworn," whatever that holds I couldn't tell you, but I always prefered the term "lightning-sworn," since that seemed more accurate. I don't know what caused it, or at what time this first started happening, but it's a blessing or curse that I could live with. I knew exactly where I was going to, the sound of laughter always attracted me, like a performer to his crowd.

"Did you hear about dat new king in Renar?" One of the bandits asked his group of friends.

"Yeh, got eight fecking kingdoms in one day from Arrow," a bandit replied.

"Must be a pretty good fighter to kill both princes of Arrow," I commented.

All five bandits turned to me, drawing their weapons as soon as they could see me through the darkness. I smiled at them as I pointed my weapon forward.

"Don't worry gentlemen, you won't need to worry about me for much longer," I said.

As soon as a lightning bolt struck the ground far from the town, I lunged forward and cut the man's head off with ease before jumping back, going back into the same stance I was in. When the light of the bolt faded and the blood began to flow from the corpse, the living realized what happened to the dead.

"How the hell did he do that!?" The bandit farthest on the right asked his comrades.

"I am the ultimate performer, the shadow in the corner of your eye, the heart of the storm, and the rage of nature itself! I am a pilgrim, _the_ pilgrim of lightning! AHAHAHA!"

Another bolt of lightning hit the ground after that. That was my chance to kill most of them before they could see or respond to my actions. The sound of thunder helped out as well, being loud enough to overshout the bandit's scream as I cut off their limbs in quick and precise slices, like a doctor dissecting his prey. When the light disappeared and my body now seen by mortal eyes, the two remaining bandits tried to attack me with a battle axe and a battle axe was easy enough to duck under, but the bandit with the mace was smart enough to wait a split second before lunging his attack, directly hitting me under my ribs. The brute even tried to cave my skull in when I was on the ground, placing my hands on the part where he struck me first. Luckily I noticed quick enough to roll and jerk my head forward, the mace hitting my long brown hair. More lightning struck around us, giving me time to get behind them unseen. Right when I was about to plant my sword into the bandit with the mace's throat, he took a step forward and slipped on the ground, slamming the upper part of his body onto my chest and sending me to the ground with him.

"Gah ferrkin dannit!" I groan as I tried to push the heavy man off me.

"Gerald, stay there for a second, I've got a log to split," the bandit with the axe said menacingly, towering right above me.

Gerald didn't reply with any words, but with a snicker as he tried to restrain me while getting up. He should have listened to his bandit friend, and I made sure that was the last lesson he learned. Once his chest was off my shoulders, I quickly cut the man's right hand off before plunging the sword into his skull, sending him completely off me with the force of my stab. When I saw the axe beginning its descent to my forehead, I rolled to the right quick enough to just barely have the axe avoid me. While the man was pulling his axe from the ground, a lightning bolt struck near us right as I stabbed the man through the ear and into his head with my sword. Although this sword was stolen from a royal guard years ago, two things I'm thankful for is that it still had its sharpness, and its ability to slide out of skulls quick enough for my liking. I spat on the ground to add to the rain's downpour and sheathed my sword.

"That's what I think of your pitiful gro- ouch," I said.

I pulled out a small dart from neck, the design on it a familiar tribal symbol of a goat's head on a pike. Instantly, my legs began to tremble and my arms lost all its energy. The last move I did before I crumbled to the ground was turning around to face my long enemy, and soon my captor. I tried to get out a complaint, but my lips and tongue had gone numb by the time I opened my mouth. In a second, my vision began to fade, and the last thing I saw was the man's red leather shoes.


End file.
